


Terrifying and Beautiful

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Lost Tales of the Coats and Customs 'verse [4]
Category: Coats and Customs 'verse - Fandom, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Public Nudity, fem!Boromir - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1485214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two short, Eowyn-centric scenes that came to me one morning.</p><p>This story takes place in the Coats and Customs AU, written by my beta & Best Beloved, Imaginary_Golux. It is brilliant. You should read it. You probably don't need to read it to understand what's going on in this story, but you'll be playing catch-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eowyn of Rohan

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The King In Waiting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/922917) by [imaginary_golux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux). 



“Aragorn!” calls Theoden as he sees his old friend approach, accompanied by a pair of youths. “It is good to see you again! 

“Be welcome to Edoras.” Morwen offers the traditional greeting, but there is warmth in her voice. “And who do you have with you?”

“My wards, Boromir and Faramir,” Aragorn explains, dismounting. “The tale of how I came by them is a long one,” he continues as Theoden boggles and Morwen snickers. 

“Well,” Theoden says at last, “I shall introduce them to my son, Theodred, and my nephew and niece, Eomer and—”

As if on cue, Eowyn sails past them, standing in the stirrups of a horse's saddle. “Yah! Yah!” she whoops, cutting a tight circle around them as though she is herding goats. And then, with the clatter of hooves, she is gone.

She is wearing nothing but a pair of riding boots.

By the gods, Theoden thinks. He just hopes Aragorn doesn't keel over from embarrassment.

Aragorn simply blinks. “So much for the traditional greeting, then?” Everyone laughs, a little nervously.

That's my granddaughter! Morwen thinks, but she says, “We'd best get to the stables and chastise her.” If nothing else, it's getting too cold for riding about in one's skin. At least Eowyn had taken her advice about the riding boots this time.

She's beautiful, Faramir thinks. Terrifying, but beautiful. 

***

Eowyn stables the horse like lightning and fetches the bag of her clothes she had carefully hidden before her ride, tugging on her breastband and drawers before wriggling into her dress. She has just gotten her swordbelt buckled when the door swings open. She affects not to notice as she brushes down the horse, her breathing well under control. See, uncle, she thinks, I was paying attention during decorum lessons.

“Eowyn,” her uncle's voice interrupts the careful counting of brushstrokes. “Why, pray tell, did you feel the need to expose yourself to our honored guests?”

“Why uncle! You disgrace me with such accusations!” she bluffs. 

“You make a better liar when your dress isn't on backwards,” Morwen says, forestalling any further evasion. “Inform the grooms they may have an early night of it; you may have dinner when you have finished brushing down the rest of the horses in the stable.” She winks at Eowyn once everyone else has turned to leave; the girl, flushed with embarrassment, grins, and sets to work


	2. Eowyn of Gondor

It is the end of their first fortnight in Pelargir, and Eowyn finally realizes what she has been feeling: ignored. It has taken her this long because it is an unaccustomed feeling. Faramir, of course, dotes on her in between inspecting this and learning the ropes of that. But even before that, she was a princess of Rohan with a flair for the dramatic. She was, if nothing else, very difficult to ignore.

But now... it is almost as though she does not exist. Beyond the most mandatory of parties, her social calendar is quite empty. The women seem uninterested in inviting her to join their little circles, and none of the men are willing to spar with her at the training grounds. Not only is it dreadfully boring, but she had rather hoped to shake things up through Gondorian society; harder to do when no-one is looking at you. She sighs, and explains her worries to her maidservant, Kippa.

“You'll like as not never be good enough for the menfolk,” Kippa begins, and Eowyn nods in agreement. “But the ladies, well, you can hardly blame them for thinking you aren't the type to sit about gossiping while you embroider, or play cards, or distill perfume.”

“No, I suppose not,” Eowyn admits. “Well, I shall simply have to change that. Kippa, send for a tailor.” She stands, and, though it pains her, moves her leathers, her trousers, and her riding dresses to the back of her wardrobe to make room for fancy gowns, and straightens up her discarded boots to make room for dancing slippers.

***

She explains her plan to Faramir that night. To her surprise, he is less than enthusiastic. “I married an untamed shieldmaiden, not some prissy damsel,” he says with a glower. 

“My dear husband,” she begins with a grin, “I have no intention of changing who I am, only how I am dressed. In a month, I shall be the talk of the town, the belle of the ball! And then, once every eye is on me, then the show will begin.” Her grin is downright predatory.

Faramir grins. “My beautiful, terrifying Eowyn. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else.”


End file.
